


Playground Hearts

by Themadwomanwhoisunfortunatelylackingabox



Series: Playground Hearts [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Elementary School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, I suck at everything i write, Kid!Fic, M/M, Multi, all i will ever be remembered for is terrible but cute Kid fic, oh god this is awful, only mild Athos/Milady, why did I write this, why did i even
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-17 14:56:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3533615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Themadwomanwhoisunfortunatelylackingabox/pseuds/Themadwomanwhoisunfortunatelylackingabox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Richelieu and Treville are rival fifth grade teachers, and Treville is determined to win the end of year kickball tournament even if it kills him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kyele](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyele/gifts).



 

D'Artagnan technically wasn't supposed to be in Mr. Treville’s  fifth-grade class. He was actually supposed to be in Ms. De Winter's fourth grade class, but he moved up a grade. And that was fine with D'Artagnan. In fact, he’d be happy if Ms. De Winter move schools completely, and that was entirely because of Athos.

 

Athos De Fere was D'Artagnan's bestest friend ever. Even better than Aramis or Porthos, or Aramis and Porthos combined. Not that it really mattered, because Aramis and Porthos were Athos's friends too, and they all hung out together anyway. What did matter was how Athos had Ms. De Winter last year, and he loved her.

 

Which was really unfair because D'Artagnan  liked Athos way better than Ms. De Winter could ever like him, and besides, everyone knew Ms. De Winter didn't even want to get married. Ever. And still Athos loved her!

 

Well never mind that. He had a plan. He'd show Athos how cool he was at the end of the year kickball tournament. He'd given up his usual once-a-week swingset time with Constance in hopes of getting good enough to impress him.

 

He had a disadvantage: he was a year younger and he showed it. Compared to Porthos, who was destined to be a linebacker, D’Artagnan was skinnier than a twig. But if he could run quicker than all of Mr. Richelieu's class, it wouldn't matter.

 

Mr. Richelieu was Mr. Treville's  natural enemy, or at least that's what Athos said. Personally, D'Artagnan thought Mr. Treville didn't hate Mr. Richelieu you nearly as much as Athos said he did, but Mr. Treville did like winning. Problem was, so did Mr. Richelieu. And sometimes D’Artagnan wondered if they both liked winning more than they liked each other.

 

And they _did_ like each other.  D'Artagnan knew it. He knew it, because sometimes Mr. Richelieu would smile toothily at Mr. Treville and call him ‘My dear.' So therefore he couldn't hate Mr. Treville. And really, D'Artagnan wondered if anybody could honestly hate Mr. Treville. Even someone as mean and scary as Mr. Richelieu.

"D'Artagnan!" Aramis called cheerily. "Come on! It's time to go inside."

 

"Coming!" He shouted, then chased after him.

~~

Aramis's favorite subject was math. He liked it way better than silent reading time, because the quiet always made him squirm. But he liked math most of all because Mr. Treville always let them work in groups of four, and Aramis had exactly four  friends in class.

 

But that day, while he was telling Porthos that the answer to number seven was 72, Mr. Richelieu's class started stomping around in the hallway.

 

So, Mr. Treville, noticeably more red in the face, swung open the door. "What are you doing?" He shouted above the noise.

 

"It's such a beautiful day, I thought we'd have class outside." Mr. Richelieu smirked evilly. One of his kids dashed past, holding a kickball. Mr. Treville was nowhere near dumb enough to not see through that.

 

"You're practicing for the kickball tournament, aren't you?" Mr. Treville accused. "That's _cheating_ , Armand."

 

 _Armand?_ Aramis scrunched up his nose. Since when did Mr. Richelieu have a first name. It wasn't even a nice first name, but he supposed to Mr. Richelieu didn't really deserve a cool first name. Aramis was a cool first name. Who would name their kid Armand?

 

Still, Mr. Treville and Mr. Richelieu were arch enemies. Even his sister Adele said they were, back when she had Mr. Treville. Arch enemies shouldn't call their archenemy by their first name. They should've been on last name basis only, like in those James Bond movies is Adele had let him watch last weekend.

 

"I prefer not to think of it as cheating, my dear." Mr. Richelieu said, with that creepy smile that showed all his teeth. "Merely strategic lesson planning."

 

Mr. Treville mumbled something that didn't sound very nice. Aramis politely pretended not to hear, and continued glaring at Mr. Richelieu with Porthos and Athos.

 

"You want to play that way? Fine." Mr. Treville glowered, and address the class. "We're having class outside today, too."

 

The class burst into cheers, or as close to cheers as possible to have with Mr. Richelieu around.

 

"But I want you to know you're setting an awful example for the children."

 

"I hardly see how showing the children how to get what they want as a bad example."

Mr. Treville groaned, but even as protective over him as all of Mr. Treville's students were, nobody could really find the effort to console him when faced with the prospect of class outside.

 

~~~

 

Porthos loved recess as much as anyone else. He liked playing all the games, from soccer to red rover, but most of all, Porthos loved kickball. And Porthos was good at kickball. Well, Porthos was good at all sports. He was the biggest kid in their grade. He loved sports. But he liked kickball best, and that was why he knew they needed to win, because kickball with Porthos's _thing_. D'Artagnan  played baseball, Aramis and Athos had those fancy-dancy fencing lessons, but Portos had kickball. And there was no way he was going to be beaten by a team called the _Red Guards_.

 

Sure, Mr. Treville’s  team name had been picked out of some book Constance had been reading, but _The Musketeers_ was a cool name. Not dumb like _The Red Guards._ That was just really unoriginal. Yes, their uniforms were red, but seriously, did the entire class have no creativity?

 

Still, despite their lack of any originality at all, Mr. Richelieu's class _was_ good at kickball. But maybe if Porthos practiced enough, he'd still be better. So, he trudged over toward the kickball court.

 

"Porthos!” Aramis called. "Where you going? Let's play soccer!" He had a soccer ball in hand and a grin stretched across his face.

 

"Oh." Porthos said. "Yeah, sure. We can do that."

 

"Cool." Aramis smiled. "Athos and D'Artagnan are waiting for us over there. Come on!"

 

The only thing Porthos loved more than kickball was Aramis. And Aramis loved  Porthos, too. But— he watched Aramis chat to Anne as they passed by the swingset — Aramis loved half the girls at school, too. And Porthos was cool with that. Mostly.

Really, he didn't think girls were all that great. Well, girls were alright, he guessed—D'Artagnan had a friend called Constance who Porthos thought was cool—but girls were into flowers and princesses and Barbies, and that wasn't Porthos’s kind of thing. And it wasn't Aramis's either, not really. So he didn't see why Aramis thought girls were so cool.

 

Aramis like soccer and spy movies and Boy Scout camp. Porthos like kickball and Indiana Jones. Really it only made sense that they should be friends and hang out all the time. Way more sense than Aramis hanging out with _Anne_.

They played soccer until Mr. Treville blew the whistle, and they all had to come inside. Aramis  and Porthos's team had won, of course; Porthos made a running joke of tripping D’Artagnan every time he tried to score. They went inside to triumphant and sweaty, and Porthos wished it could be like this forever.

~~~

Athos had always been Treville's  favorite, and Athos's favorite had always been Treville. Well, except for when he had Milady de Winter, but she was another story entirely. She was a girl. He didn't love the Treville like he loved Ms. De Winter; Mr. Treville was _old_. (In the best possible way, of course.)

And besides, he didn't even love Ms. De Winter as much as he thought he did, anymore. After figuring out his baby brother had a crush on her too, he thought it would be best to move on. Problem was, he didn't know _how_ to move on. But Mr. Treville would know. Mr. Treville knew a lot of stuff. So he waited patiently until after school, and said as serious as he could, "Mr. Treville, how do I get over someone?"

 

Mr. Treville like he was choking. "I don't believe I'm the best person to be asking this question to, Athos."

 

"And why's that," he frowned. "You know bunch of stuff."

 

"It's because Mr. Treville is married, and happily so," Mr. Richelieu scoffed from the doorway, then turned to Treville."Ready to go home, my dear?"

 

Mr. Treville just ignored Mr. Richelieu, but Athos couldn't. Mr. Treville was married? And  he was getting a ride home with Mr. Richelieu? But that meant – "You're  married to Mr. Richelieu?" He gawked.

"You didn't know?" Mr. Richelieu smirked. "He does wear a wedding band, you know."

 

"Stop being an antagonizer, Armand." Mr. Treville grumbled.

 

"But you don't have the same last name!" Athos protested

 

"He kept his," Richelieu  shrugged.

 

"But — Mr. Treville, he's evil!"

 

Mr. Richelieu laughed. "Oh, is that what they're saying about me these days?"

 

"Well, it's not like you give them any reason not to believe it," Treville grumbled.

 

"I'm not evil, merely committed." Richelieu argued.

 

"He cheats!"

 

"I'm simply very interested in getting my way," he said.

 

Mr. Treville put his face in his hands and groaned."Athos, if you're looking to get over someone, try getting excited about other things." He said

 

"Such as losing kickball tournament, for example." Mr. Richelieu suggested cheerily.

 

Mr. Treville glared at Richelieu. "If that is all, Athos, we should both be getting home."

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of reckoning

Jean de Treville was a dedicated man, but not quite as dedicated as his husband. Which was his greatest downfall, Richelieu thought as he stared down his class. “Let me make this clear,” He said slowly. “We _will_ win today.” 

"Yes Mr. Richelieu,” They chorused back.

“There is no other option.”

“Not if we want to get any candy,” Jussac grumbled.

“No, not if you want any candy.” Richelieu agreed. Candy was a much easier bribe than a pizza party, at least.

~~

“Today’s the day.” Treville said.

“We can do it.”

“We’re not gonna lose to them!” Porthos cried.

“Besides,” Aramis said. “They’ve got Louis in their class. Everybody knows he sucks at kickball.”

That was perhaps a bit generous, if not kind. Louis French was not...athletically inclined. However, he tended to believe he was, and since he was the principal's son, nobody would dare tell him no. Treville had been more than happy when Louis ended up in Richelieu’s class, and not Treville’s. 

"Mr. Richelieu is smart,” Athos said. “He’ll probably already have thought of a way to stop Louis from hurting the team.”

“It doesn’t matter what scheme Mr. Richelieu has cooked up,” Treville reassured.

“We’ll win.”

“Because we’re the better men?” Aramis asked. “And women,” He added when Constance shot him a look.

“Exactly.

~~~

The early June sun beat down on them as they met Mr. Richelieu’s class on the kickball field.

“May the best team win,” Mr. Richelieu said innocently, which D’Artagnan thought was suspicious. But then Mr. Richelieu shook hands with Mr. Treville, and the game began. D’Artagnan didn’t think about it anymore.

The Red Guards were in the outfield first, which left D’Artagnan to kicking at the grass while Brasseur kicked. Mr. Treville was glaring at Mr. Richelieu but he wasn’t really upset, because Mr. Richelieu was chuckling and Mr. Treville was close to smiling.

“D’Artagnan, it’s your turn.” Aramis nudged him.

Jussac was pitching----if you could call it pitching, D’Artagnan wasn’t sure---and Jussac pitched fast. That was okay, though. D’Artagnan could do it. D’Artagnan would do it. He glanced at Athos, who was arguing about something with Aramis. He could do this. He’d show Athos how cool he was, he just knew it---

“Out!” Mr. Richelieu called out triumphantly. He missed. He. Missed.

D’Artagnan was shepherded to the back of the line, still numb. Porthos clapped him on the shoulder, saying, “that’s tough luck.” Tough luck? More like the worst luck he ever had. Still, It was early. He could impress Athos later in the game. He knew it.

~~~

The score was five to zero when the teams switched positions. Now it was already 3-5.

Aramis hated outfield. He couldn’t even just stand around with Porthos like he usually did, not this time. This time he had to work his hardest, even at outfield, and that just made Aramis hate it even more. Even Constance and Anne weren’t making crowns out of the dandelions like they usually did. Everybody was supposed to be focused. Aramis didn’t feel focused. Aramis felt nervous. If they didn’t win, Aramis would never forgive himself. Porthos would never forgive him, _and_ Mr. Treville would be disappointed.

“Aramis!” Porthos said. “What’s the matter?"

“It’s nothing,” he muttered. Then a kickball flew past Aramis with a rush of wind, and he scrambled. Aramis was the best runner in Mr. Treville’s class, but he still felt slow, slow, way too slow, when he ran toward the kickball. Struggling to find purchase on the grass, he tripped over the ball and grabbed at it, but----Jussac had already rounded the corner. The score was now 4-5. Great. He rolled the ball back to Athos, who was pitching, his heart slowly sinking in his chest.

"S'okay, Aramis," Porthos mumbled, his hand warm on Aramis's shoulder. "There's always next time." He smiled, and Aramis felt a little warmer.

~~

Athos liked pitching; he didn't like kickball very much, but he did like pitching—and winning. Especially against Mr. Richelieu's class, because Mr. Richelieu was evil, no matter what Mr. Treville said. Mr. Treville obviously mistaken. Though how Mr. Treville could have been mistaken long enough to marry Mr. Richelieu was beyond Athos, but apparently it happened.

"Just a couple more minutes, then we have to head inside," Mr. Treville called to them.

Athos rolled the ball. Cahusac kicked it— kicked it in that particular way where the. All went sailing over the outfield. All of the Musketeers went running after it, Athos watched with wide eyes. Cahusac sprinted to first, then second, and no, they couldn't end in a _tie_. Not against Mr. Richelieu. That was almost as bad as losing.

But— no, someone had caught it, and they were rocketing back toward Cahusac. And then the ball was thrown, and it seemed like time slowed down. Cahusac was only a little bit away from home plate, but— The ball hit.

"Out!" Treville cried and Mr. Richelieu growled, but that was it; the game was over. They won. And it was all thanks to that one kid, who was currently splayed on the grass, groaning.

It was d'Artagnan. "Did I do it?" He muttered.

"Yeah," Athos said.

A shrill whistle pierced the air. It was Ms. De Winter, beautiful as ever, but Athos didn't look at her long. D'Artagnan was more importantly the moment. "Time's up, boys." She said to Mr. Treville, and Athos knew they needed to shuffle indoors but _they won_ , and that was more important.

"We did it," Athos said.

"We won."

"We did?"

"Thanks to you," Aramis chirped.

"Since when can you run that fast?" Porthos said, helping D'Artagnan to his feet.

"I've been practicing," he coughed.

"Thanks for making sure we didn't tie."Athos said. Tying with the snakes in Mr. Richelieu's class was unthinkable. "You...you did really good." D'Artagnan beamed, and it reminded Athos of summer, and if he had to forget about Ms. De Winter, why not focus on D'Artagnan instead?

~~

“Bet still on, then?”

“We should’ve won.”

“But you didn’t,” Treville smirked. “I told you there was no way I was going to see a Midsummer’s Night’s Dream.”

“I hate baseball.” Richelieu grumbled.

“Deal with it.”

~~~

Porthos spun absentmindedly on a swing. The last day of fifth grade was already over, he didn’t know what to think about that.

“Porthos!” Aramis called.

“Your mom not here yet?”

“Nah.” He shrugged.

Aramis hummed. “I’ll wait with you.”

“You’re going to miss your bus.”

“It’s okay,” Aramis said. “That’ll just make your mom have to let me hang with you.”

Porthos laughed. “‘kay.” What did it matter if Aramis liked girls; Aramis always came back to him in the end.

“Hey, Porthos, do you think I’ll make the travelling soccer team?”

“Huh? Probably…”

~~

(And if, when Athos’s parents died in a car crash that July, Mr. Treville was looking to adopt, well. What were the chances of them taking him in? But they do. And Armand doesn’t really mind, not as much as he thought he would.) 

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote this out on paper first, and then using the diction thingy on my phone, I read it out. It was hilarious. You have no idea how many times Athos auto corrected to Apple or Eighth, and I was very tempted to just leave the multiple misspellings of Richelieu's name for tone purposes, but decided, nah, this fic will at least masquerade as serious.  
> If there's any left over mistakes, I'm sorry, please forgive me. 
> 
> I probs totes screwed Athos's characterization up, Apologies.  
> Anyway, enjoy your baby Musketeers

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Anti-Monster Brigade VS the Lake Monster](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4050835) by [Kyele](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyele/pseuds/Kyele)




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